Today I would like to talk further about my panick attack, controling, maniac ways. I can honestly say there is not a time in my twenty-something years that I haven't felt totally in control of my life. That is obviously until The King cheated, kicked us out, and broke my heart. For years and years I made sure my life looked like the perfect little shiny package with a perfect little designer bow on top, the kind of wrapping they do at Nordy's at Christmas Time. It wasn't. It never has been.
I guess some people would call it spoiled, I don't see it that way. I just see it as, this is how my life has always been, so why would I accept anything less. Daddy works hard, Mom stays home, we have everything. That's the way it's supposed to be. But life doesn't always work out that way.
My parents met in highschool and have been together now for almost thirty years. In my teenage years I was constantly looking for a husband. Freekish and not typical, I know. But I just wanted a family. I wanted to go away to school with my boyfriend, graduate from college four years later with a ring and a fiance, who would eventually become my husband, and shortly thereafter the father of my children. Whom of course I would stay home and raise, possibly even home-school.
That's not exactly how it happened, as you know if you've been following along. Adam and I were highschool sweet hearts but we ditched college in favor of him persuing a military career. It was quite possibly the worst choice we ever made. It was a disaster from the start. I sure knew how to make it look pretty though. In a nice little patriotic package filled with pride, strength, and endurance, with a pretty star spangled bow made of love and affection, spoiling and indulging.
For the last six years I have lived in Adam's shadow, Adam's world. I never felt sparkly enough to stand next to him in his sexy little flight suit. I was proud of course, and I took on the role as military-wife with honor. I think I faked it quite well, because I was absolutely miserable. Sex became the only thing that bound us together. Coincidentally it also became the very thing that would tear us apart. Only it wasn't our sex that tore us apart...that was perfect, and magical, and everything it was supposed to be. Or so I had myself convinced.
Before Adam I went through a breif year or two of very permiscuious behavior. I had lost my soul mate, the man who I truly to this day think I was meant to be with all along, and I was scrambling to fill that void. And I did so with three other men, boys, I suppose they were boys then. The attention, the sex, the complanionship, the rush of being thier first...eventhough I knew it wasn't love. It still felt special. In those moments we still belonged to eachother, in those moments I felt whole.
Looking back at mine and Adam's life, there was a turning point, a time where I can now realize he stopped being the one to roll over and nuzzle my neck. Or to intitate the dreaded male version of foreplay...a butt poke with his little fairly stiff friend. He told me he was tired of being the one to always intitate the sex...so I started to take control. And he happily let me. It was around that time that the tables seemed to shift. It was as if that was the final bit of control Adam felt he had in his life, and he gave it to me. I didn't want it. I could feel it in the way that he kissed me. I knew something was wrong, and then a few weeks later I found out about Bethany. How could I have been surprised.
In my last attempt to grasp onto every shred of control I made sure the separation papers listed that this would be a "religious divorce" and neither of us were allowed to have any type of relationship with the opposite sex until we were officially divorced. At the time it made sense, if I couldn't have him, then I was hell bent that no one could. I was convinced that if he could just be with out me in every way for any length of time that he would realize how much he needed me. I felt that hunger every time he came home from a long trip, or returned from a deployment. Surely this time would be the same. It's wasn't, and it isn't. A couple weeks ago, well maybe a month or two ago...I tried to convince him to have phone sex with me. How embarassing. I seriously could have crawled under the bed and died when he turned me down. It broke my heart for him not to want me that way, even when things were bad, even the morning I left to move home we had sex "one last time".
The point is, now six months ago I separated from my husband. I included a stipulation in our little agreement that we both signed saying that neither of us could have a relationship. But I want one. Ultimately I would love for it to be with him. I would love for him to have an ephifiany and come running home a changed man, but that isn't going to happen. In the ten+ years since I started dating I have never been alone, never. I have felt most complete when someone was holding my hand. I have felt most loved when someone was inside me, coincidentally I also felt the most alone in those moments. Why now am I feeling as though I could easily launch myself down the same destructive, heart breaking path. I just want to feel loved. Not in the way Adaline loves me, or my family loves me, that completes me in a different way. Why do I feel like I need to be WITH someone to be myself? Why am I so scared of being alone? Why do I base all my self worth in a man needing and wanting me, of how good I can cook and clean and balance life and be the perfect little stepford wife? Why do I put so much emphasis on the way it looks from the outside when inside I am literally crumbling apart?